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👉 Hyperactivity Music
@hyperactivity-music
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Leks 'Addict' [Hyperactivity Music]

𝓗𝓲ya 👋 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓬 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔀! 𝓐𝓵𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓘 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼, 𝓶𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓻𝓾𝓶&𝓫𝓪𝓼𝓼, 𝓭𝓾𝓫𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹, 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮, 𝓳𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓮, 𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓷𝓸, 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 & 𝓸𝓯 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮 𝓤𝓚 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓮! ᴴᵀᴵᴰ🫶 ᑭ.ᒪ.ᑌ.ᖇ       

Just ʅҽƚ ƚԋҽ ɱυʂιƈ ρʅαყ ʂσ I ƈαɳ ԃαɳƈҽ ƚԋҽ ɳιɠԋƚ αɯαყ!

ℐ 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓜𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓬, 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮!!!!! ✌️💛

The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.            “It’s not like I’m using,” Case heard someone say, as he shouldered his way through the crowd around the door of the Chat. “It’s like my body’s developed this massive drug deficiency.” It was a Sprawl voice and a Sprawl joke. The Chatsubo was a bar for professional expatriates; you could drink there for a week and never hear two words in Japanese.            Ratz was tending bar, h is prosthetic arm jerking monotonously as he filled a tray of glasses with draft Kirin. He saw Case and smiled, his teeth a webwork of East European steel and brown decay. Case found a place at the bar, between the unlikely tan on one of Lonny Zone’s whores and the crisp naval uniform of a tall African whose cheekbones were ridged with precise rows of tribal scars. “Wage was in her early, with two joeboys,” Ratz said, shoving a draft across the bar with his good hand. “Maybe some business with you, Case?”            Case shrugged. The girl to his right giggled and nudged him.            The bartender’s smile widened. His ugliness was the stuff of legend. In an age of affordable beauty, there was something heraldic about his lack of it. The antique arm whined as he reached for another mug. It was a Russian military prosthesis, a seven-function force-feedback manipulator, cased in grubby pink plastic. “You are too much the artiste, Herr Case.” Ratz grunted; the sound served him as laughter. He scratched his overhang of white-shirted belly with the pink claw. “You are the artiste of the slightly funny deal.”            “Sure,” Case said, and sipped his beer. “Somebody’s gotta be funny around here. Sure the fuck isn’t you.”            The whore’s giggle went up an octave.            “Isn’t you either, sister. So you vanish, okay? Zone, he’s a close personal friend of mine.”            She looked Case in the eye and made the softest possible spitting sound, her lips barely moving. But she left.            “Jesus,” Case said, “what kinda creepjoint you running here? Man can’t have a drink?”            “Ha,” Ratz said, swabbing the scarred wood with a rag, “Zone shows a percentage. You I let work here for entertainment value.”            As Case was picking up his beer, one of those strange instants of silence descended, as though a hundred unrelated conversations had simultaneously arrived at the same pause. Then the whore’s giggle rang out, tinged with certain hysteria.            Ratz grunted. “An angel has passed.”            “The Chinese,” bellowed a drunken Australian, “Chinese bloody invented nerve-splicing. Give me the mainland for a nerve job any day. Fix you right, mate…;”            “Now that,” Case said to his glass, all his bitterness suddenly rising in him like bile, “that is so much bullshit.”             The Japanese had already forgotten more neurosurgery than the Chinese had ever known. The black clinics of Chiba were the cutting edge, whole bodies of technique supplanted monthly, and still they couldn’t repair the damage he’d suffered in that Memphis hotel.            A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace, hope fading nightly. All the speed he took, all the turns he’d taken and the corners he’d cut in Night City, and still he’d see the matrix in his sleep, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colorless void…;The Sprawl was a long strange way home over the Pacific now, and he was no console man, no cyberspace cowboy. Just another hustler, trying to make it through. But the dreams came on in the Japanese night like livewire voodoo, and he’d cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, his hands clawed into the bedslab, temperfoam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasn’t there.             “I saw your girl last night,” Ratz said, passing Case his second Kirin.            “I don’t have one,” he said, and drank.            “Miss Linda Lee.”            Case shook his head.            “No girl? Nothing? Only biz, friend artiste? Dedication to commerce?” The bartender’s small brown eyes were nested deep in wrinkled flesh. “I think I liked you better, with her. You laughed more. Now, some night, you get maybe too artistic; you wind up in the clinic tanks, spare parts.”            “You’re breaking my heart, Ratz.” He finished his beer, paid and left, high narrow shoulders hunched beneath the rainstained khaki nylon of his windbreaker. Threading his way through the Ninsei crowds, he could smell his own stale sweat.             Case was twenty-four. At twenty-two, he’d been a cowboy, a rustler, one of the best in the Sprawl. He’d been trained by the best, by McCoy Pauley and Bobby Quine, legends in the biz. He’d operated on an almost permanent adrenaline high, a byproduct of youth and proficiency, jacked into a custom cyberspace deck hat projected his disembodied consciousness into the consensual hallucination that was the matrix. A their, he’d worked for other, wealthier thieves, employers who provided the exotic software required to penetrate the bright walls of corporate systems, opening windows into rich fields of data.            He’s made the classic mistake, the one he’s sworn he’d never make. He stole from his employers. He kept something for himself and tried to move it through a fence in Amsterdam. He still wasn’t sure how he’d been discovered, not that it mattered now. He’d expected to die, then but they only smiled. Of course he was welcome, they told him, welcome to the money. And he was going to need it. Because––still smiling––they were going to make sure he never worked again.            They damaged his nervous system with a wartime Russian mycotoxin.            Strapped to a bed in a Memphis hotel, his talent burning out micron by micron, he hallucinated for thirty hours.            The damage was minute, subtle, and utterly effective.            For Case, who’d lived for the bodiless exultation of cyberspace, it was the Fall. In the bars he’d frequented as a cowboy hotshot, the elite stance involved a certain relaxed contempt for the flesh. The body was meat. Case fell into the prison of his own flesh.             His total assets were quickly converted to New Yen, a fat sheaf of the old paper currency that circulated endlessly through the closed circuit of the world’s black markets like the seashells of the Trobriand islanders. It was difficult to transact legitimate business with cash in the Sprawl; in Japan, it was already illegal.            In Japan, he’d known with a clenched and absolute certainty, he’d find his cure. In Chiba. Either in a registered clinic or in the shadowland of black medicine. Synonymous with implants, nerve-splicing, and microbionics, Chiba was a magnet for the Sprawl’s techno-criminal subcultures.            In Chiba, he’d watched his New Yen vanish in a two-month round of examinations and consultations. The men in the black clinics, his last hope, had admired the expertise with which he’d been maimed, and then slowly shaken their heads.            Now he slept in the cheapest coffins, the ones nearest the port, beneath the quartz-halogen floods that lit the docks all night like vast stages; where you couldn’t see the lights of Tokyo for the glare of the television sky, not even the towering hologram logo of the Fuji Electric Company, and the Tokyo Bay was a black expanse where gulls wheeled above drifting shoals of white styrofoam. Behind the port lay the city, factory domes dominated by the vast cubes of corporate arcologies. Port and city were divided by a narrow borderland of older streets, an area with no official name. Night City, with Ninsei its heart. By day, the bars down Ninsei were shuttered and featureless, the neon dead, the holograms inert, waiting, under the poisoned silver sky. --Reprinted from Neuromancer by William Gibson by permission of Berkley, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © 1984, William Gibson. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. 
Hooked on the rush from each time i play in front of magical people.
Deep minimalist.

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member of Organic Beatz crew 

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J.W. Goethe

Jungle and Drum & Bass Premieres and Mixes 

All selected in-house by Data Transmission. If you have any new music for submission please email shelley@datatransmission.co

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***THIS INBOX IS NOT MONITORED AS I GET TOO MANY UNSOLICITED, IRRELEVANT MESSAGES***

Drum & Bass lover, Liquid/Deep vibez

contact: gt1616@gmail.com

🔥 DNB / Dubstep / House / Techno / Tekno 🔥
Hobbyist 🎶

Pharaosa proudly represents the underground scene of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Where for years, he has been deeply inspired by many of the local artists and events.

A percussionist at heart, he was drawn to Drum & Bass, and of course Dubstep, specifically Dungeon/Deep/Tech. Through this sub-genre, he found the sound that he wanted to be associated with. The deeper he went down the rabbit hole, the more inspired he became. Some of his earlier findings were releases by Darj, Dark Entity, Mishva, Subreachers and Leon Switch. After years of enjoying countless events, Pharaosa made his debut at Even Further 2018 with Aimerie and Kryptic Disciple. Shortly after he was asked to open for Joe Nice, and Ternion Sound at the following Subsequential event. 

Over the past few years, Pharaosa focused all of his efforts into Drum and Bass. Finding a lot of inspiration from artists like: Creatures, Bredren, Thematic, Minor Forms, & Geostatic. After spending most of 2023 creating his own sound, he started to reap the benefits of those efforts. Opening for Chase and Status, Reso, Mefjus, Camo & Krooked, and making his Infrasound Music Festival Debut was just the beginning..

Pharaosa@gmail.com
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QWÆK/DIIZ
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local
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DJs twitch Dnb
www.twitch.tv/helmahof
https://www.twitch.tv/khariszma
https://www.twitch.tv/secretstructures
www.twitch.tv/sora_dnb

DJs twitch
https://www.twitch.tv/twobgirls
https://www.twitch.tv/dj_acidion
https://www.twitch.tv/djamber_d
https://www.twitch.tv/ministerbeanbpm
https://www.twitch.tv/djbrookb
https://www.twitch.tv/captainedith
https://www.twitch.tv/chazz
https://www.twitch.tv/dj_descent
https://www.twitch.tv/divine_adornment
https://www.twitch.tv/drutroit
https://www.twitch.tv/duburban_
https://www.twitch.tv/martino_edwardo
https://www.twitch.tv/fouriadnb
https://www.twitch.tv/guddah
https://www.twitch.tv/helmahof
https://www.twitch.tv/indiagutierdj
https://www.twitch.tv/junglejim_ny
https://www.twitch.tv/kenchannel
https://www.twitch.tv/khariszma
https://www.twitch.tv/kickswitchofficial
https://www.twitch.tv/djkrugah146
https://www.twitch.tv/lostmelody__
https://www.twitch.tv/ov_curses
https://www.twitch.tv/marketing_porpoises
https://www.twitch.tv/misschessknight
https://www.twitch.tv/djmissile
https://www.twitch.tv/mynameisnaiad
https://www.twitch.tv/natimartyn
https://www.twitch.tv/neal_ls
https://www.twitch.tv/nicolemusicuk
https://www.twitch.tv/patrickrichards
https://www.twitch.tv/thaphlash
https://www.twitch.tv/raqstar12
https://www.twitch.tv/rootzman
https://www.twitch.tv/secretstructures
https://www.twitch.tv/sora_dnb
https://www.twitch.tv/staxxbundlez
https://www.twitch.tv/sunz_one
https://www.twitch.tv/supaexe
https://www.twitch.tv/swhimmm
https://www.twitch.tv/taucher66
https://www.twitch.tv/totalrage76
https://www.twitch.tv/valdudes

DJs twitch Reggae/HipHop/Chill
www.twitch.tv/indiagutierdj
https://www.twitch.tv/junglejim_ny
https://www.twitch.tv/kenchannel
https://www.twitch.tv/djmissile
https://www.twitch.tv/djkrugah146
https://www.twitch.tv/ov_curses
https://www.twitch.tv/rootzman
https://www.twitch.tv/swhimmm
____________________________________________________

pro
https://www.twitch.tv/welcome2bishu
https://www.twitch.tv/eliminatehq
https://www.twitch.tv/isofortune
https://www.twitch.tv/jonlimusic
https://www.twitch.tv/n3ku
https://www.twitch.tv/olivia_wyrick
https://www.twitch.tv/progrockpianobar
https://www.twitch.tv/supertask

You know what ... after this sentence, the rest is kinda provardo. To tell you the truth, I play what makes me feel good. Welcome to my bag of mixes, mostly D&B and liquid, but I like to play a fusion of sounds to tickle minds and create visual soundscapes. I have been mixing since 1993. Started on Technics 1210s with vinyl morphed to CDJs then my ikkle beauty a Numark iDJ pro by algorithm, somewhat rare iPad integrated controller. Now im back where I started on vinyl with the added luxury of time coded records to add into my mixes.  Anyways, I do what makes me feel good at the time cos, well thats all we got. Browse and hopefully find something that tickels you. Feedback always welcome, good, bad or darn right ugly. x

Finally, I wana give a massive shout-out and bags of respect to all music producers. For me,  you make my world go round.

Jutster

Leks 'Addict' [Hyperactivity Music]

dtdnb